


Blood Lines

by goblinesque



Category: My Soul to Take (2010)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 22:07:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7286512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goblinesque/pseuds/goblinesque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, in life, things happen. Sometimes they may not seem fair. When you're never truly alone, one begins to wonder. Do we attract them? Are there certain markers inside a person that attracts otherwordly events? Can there be multiple souls inside one person? Am I cursed?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Lines

**Author's Note:**

> This was just a little bubble thought they wouldn't leave my head. It's just a collection of words in concern to the character of Abel Plenkov. There's no true story line here. Only a character study laced with pretty words to make it worth the time to read. 
> 
> One shot.

    If anyone were to ask him, he’d say family was the most important thing. If anyone were to ask the people that knew him before word ripped through the small Riverton area, Abel Plenkov was the kindest man they’d known, a man that had so adored his pregnant wife and daughter, a man that seemed excited at the prospect of being a father again. These words of his character were always met with a “ _ **but**_ ” at the end, there was always an addition to their statement, a not so nice reminder of what he had done, unknown to him that it had been a curse of souls from early childhood inhabiting his body that was their vessel.

_He was a good neighbor, a loving husband and caring father, **BUT** the ones that do the most heinous of crimes are always the ones you least suspect._

_He’d gotten my granddaughter’s cat out of the tree when she was just four years old and sobbing and pleading for someone to save the little fluff ball, **BUT** it’s always the ones that seem to care the most that care so little for the preciousness of life. _

_Abel Plenkov had skilled hands when it came to his work, **BUT ** it was always the ones that worked around knives and other sharp objects that had it in them. Didn’t the Texas Chainsaw Massacre teach anyone anything?_

He was a man, in death, left scarred with a reputation that was never his to claim. The murders were never from Abel Plenkov, the man, but rather the monster, the demon’s soul, that lurked deep within him, taking what he wanted to punish Abel for not doing what it was that he wished, to punish Abel for having a life that was deemed too happy, to perfect.

The Ripper held an anger, a hatred, some could even say a jealousy over what Abel Plenkov had, and no soul in Heaven or on Earth could put a stop to the Ripper’s rampage to ruin everything that Abel had. No matter the strength Abel tried to fight him off with, he’d always over power him. When the lesser souls, ones weak and only wishing to have a moment to take breath, to speak and to live for only a moment while Abel rested, tried to fight him, he’d always win. No one was going to get between the battle between light and dark, of good and evil, of Abel and Cain.

Abel Plenkov was a man, but a man with a devil on his back. A man that had fought so hard against a monster that put a knife in his hand, that had caused so many innocent people to witness Abel’s face as their last vision in life as their life blood splattered across his face when the Ripper had taken control.

He’d thought of ways to end it, of suicide. But killing himself would leave his loving wife Sarah and his dark haired, dark eyed daughter to deal with one of the other souls that had not the fraction of love he held in his heart for his little family was too much of a burden. The sinful act of suicide would leave his family at the mercy of the Ripper and their lives would be made into hell on earth. Never in his mind could he view the demon soul as having mercy on his family. The others had been kind, if the demon wasn’t there, the Plenkov would have had a chance with their docile, gentle souls.

But the Ripper had done his name justice and ripped any hope from him as Abel sat in his bathroom, the view of blood staining his marital bed where his wife, still gasping for her last breaths sat with hands clutching her stomach to their unborn child who Abel knew would never know the warmth of his father’s hug or his laughter, not like his daughter knew, and his daughter…

_What had he done to her?_

Red and blue lights flashed through the trees and houses around Riverton. A sleepy community was rattled in the knowledge that it was one of their own. It was a shock to know that a man could have appeared to be so loving could hold so much hate for the ones he had supposedly loved.

They’d never know the truth of what had happened to Abel Plenkov and his children, both having miraculously survived his rampage, would be left to deal with the shadow that the Ripper’s soul had left behind. The Plenkov bloodlines remained, able to stretch and wind throughout time, but there’d always be that shadow, that fear that another Plenkov would be a target for souls, that the Ripper’s soul would find a home in his daughter or of his son, whom he never had the chance to meet, but had so many times talked to him and said his adoration and love to him in Sarah’s belly before the monster took away any happiness in the world for the Plenkov family and its closest friends and relatives.

His greatest fear wasn’t the stain on his name, though to anyone that discovered the truth one could feel heart break that such a loving and caring mad had been so tortured by a fiendish creature of hell’s darkest depths that Dante, himself, could never describe, but that his children would be victims just as he was. It was only a matter of time before a soul would find a Plenkov child, whether it be his children or his grandchildren. Even in death, he knew it would be never ending, the great tragedy of being a Plenkov. One way or another, a descendent of his would never be alone, not truly. Not when souls collected so easily in one tiny vessel of a youthful child, still learning the wonders of the world.


End file.
